


A Comatose Dream Of An Unnamed Orphan

by tonystarkswallet



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Coma, Coma dream, Flowers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grieving Peter Parker, Heavy Angst, How Do I Tag, Hurt Peter Parker, I Made Myself Cry, M/M, POV First Person, POV Peter Parker, Pansexual Wade Wilson, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Sad Ending, Stephen Strange Is Still A Doctor, Wade Wilson is a Good Bro, Why Did I Write This?, dream - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 20:57:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20570771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonystarkswallet/pseuds/tonystarkswallet
Summary: Peter steals some flowers from an apartment's flower pot. A man named Wade comes out and confronts him, eventually following Peter to where he was heading to.They end up in a graveyard. Wade, feeling guilty, takes Peter to get some chimichangas and they eat on a city bench.





	A Comatose Dream Of An Unnamed Orphan

I walk down the same sidewalk I do every Saturday night. The sun had long set, pinks and yellows and blues and purples followed behind it. Sometimes I feel like I notice and appreciate things other people don’t. 

The sky was now dimly black, the millions of lights in Manhattan forcing stars into hiding. I should probably move to somewhere less populated once I get the money for it. It’s not like anybody here would miss me. 

It’s raining. Not a harsh pouring rain but a sprinkled shower. It’s refreshing and nice against my overheated skin. I shouldn’t have worn a thick hoodie. 

I make my way down the busy street, arriving to a familiar building. It was five stories tall, rusted metal fire escapes and balconies accompanying the windowed doors on each floor. It looks old but I would never be able to make an educated guess on it’s correct age. I’ve never been into architecture or buildings. Although old buildings like this one do look nice.

The window frames and door frames are coaxed with ivys and stains of dirt. Some people scoff at the sight, but lack of cleanliness on the outside adds to the old look. 

I pass the building every Saturday, whenever I make this dreaded walk each week. I come by and grab a couple flowers from one of the plant pots that’s in front of the apartment building between the front door. 

That’s what I was doing this week.

I crouch down next to one of the plant pots and easily pick a couple of the flowers, snapping the stem at the dirt with only two fingers. They were so thin I was scared of damaging them.

I stand back up and inspect the two blue periwinkle flowers that I picked, brushing some of the dirt from the petals away. I flinch, paling as I hear a masculine voice say, “Hey! Those aren’t yours.”

I’m quiet for a couple seconds, before managing a glance at where the voice originated from. My jaw clenches and I can feel my heart thudding in my ears. 

“I-,” I choke on the single word, glancing down at the flowers. I didn’t expect to get caught. The man must’ve noticed my nerves and heavily sighs.

A couple seconds of silence follows as he must’ve been thinking of what to say. “Sorry. I just, uh…” he trails off and sighs again. 

I look back over, a little less startled and flustered. So I’m able to properly take in the man’s features. He was two or three inches taller than me and looked a few years older. I’m only eighteen years old but the age difference doesn’t appear to be large. Five years, at most.

The stranger was sporting rather trendy hair, a medium-length men’s cut. He had brown hair and light blue eyes that reminded me of a bright blue lake in the summer. Two pimples were on his chin. I probably shouldn't have noticed that tiny detail.

I nod hesitantly. “I can put them back,” I offer, but I doubt he’d want them back. I already picked them.

He cocked a brow playfully. “No thanks. They’d just rot,” he huffs. “You take ‘em often. What’re they for?” he asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame of the apartment building. He must live here.

“Uh…” I mumble.

He sighs, yet again. “What? A pretty girl?” he presses.

_ No.  _

Frustration boils inside of me at that small question. This whole situation was awful. I felt the need to go back home or walk away.

He must’ve noticed my anger, so he continues. “I should probably come with you, to make sure she’s good enough for theft,” he says. “Oh. I’m Wade, by the way,” he adds, holding out his hand. 

I reach forward and hesitantly shake it with my free hand. Then I pull away, not introducing myself. I turn on my heels and begin walking down the sidewalk again.

Only about four seconds pass and then I hear footsteps approaching me from behind. I huff and spin around, brows pinched. I see Wade behind me, my eyes noticing how tight his dark burgundy shirt is against his muscled biceps. Those poor seams. 

“What?” I ask.

He blinks. “I said I’m coming with you, silly,” he says with a grin.

I narrow my eyes, staring at him for a couple seconds before I continue walking. Of course, I hear his footsteps again. Wade seemed like a nice guy and all, but I really just wanted to be alone right now and be embarrassed. 

We walk for a little while, side by side. I feel like screaming at him and telling him to get away from me. But I know that would get us nowhere. I certainly don’t want to come off as rude. 

I keep one hand in my pocket, gripping my iPhone 7 just in case this guy decides to do anything. I wouldn’t be able to call ‘911’ in time, but having my phone in hand and so close just made me feel more comfortable.

“Does she live close?” Wade asks.

I briefly glance over at him, then back in front of us so I don’t trip on anything. I simply shrug my shoulders and sigh. “I didn’t think anybody would care. They’re  _ just _ flowers,” I murmur quietly, changing the subject.

I hear him sigh as well. “But it was still stealing. They’re not yours,” he says.

Wade sounded like my mother; telling me off for acting up. Yeah, I shouldn’t have stolen them. But they’re  _ just _ flowers. I don’t really see the big deal. 

“Do you live there?” I ask. I could easily assume so. He came out of the building when he caught me taking the flowers.

Wade nodded. “I do. Are we almost there?” he asks, sounding impatient. He probably had somewhere to be.

“Mhm,” I mumble, slowly growing more comfortable around Wade.

We walk for four more minutes and then we cross the road at a nearby crosswalk. Then we make our way to Saint Paul’s Churchyard, walking through the large and opened entryway.

He glanced around and I could hear the grin in his voice. “You meet up with your girlfriend at a graveyard?” he asks.

Self-control keeps me from glaring at him. Wade definitely lacks common sense. If someone walks into a cemetery with flowers, it’s pretty self-explanatory why they’re there. It’s not to meet up with some girl. Besides, a cemetery isn’t romantic. I feel sorry for whoever he’s dating or who he’s dated in the past.

We walk past graves for two long minutes and then I stop in front of one. I’m silent and guessing Wade’s reading the double-named tombstone. I glance over, seeing how his grin was gone. 

_ Mary Parker _

_ November 30. 1971 - April 8. 2007 _

_ A loving mother and brave scientist. _

_ Richard Parker _

_ September 6. 1967 - April 8. 2007 _

_ A devoted husband, brother, and father. _

Wade suddenly looked over at me. Tears were threatening to fall and his voice made it sound like his throat was squeezing itself shut. “I’ve done an awful, selfish thing,” he whispered.

I felt my brows furrow at that. “What?” I ask, in pure confusion.

“I-I...I’m sorry,” he whispers.

We stare into each other’s eyes for a couple seconds before I realize what he’s talking about. He must feel bad for telling me off about the flowers.

I nod. “It’s alright,” I say truthfully, because it really is okay. He seems more upset than me, which is odd. 

I’m a pretty forgiving person. What he did wasn’t a big deal. He was just looking after the flowers at his apartment building, which he should.

“No, no it’s not,” Wade says. “I’m such a jerk,” she sighed breathlessly. 

I don’t really understand why he’s so upset. Shouldn’t I be the one upset? I’m not, so he doesn’t have a reason to be sad.

Wade takes the flowers from my hand and I let him. Then he crouches down, setting the flowers on top of the gravestone. I watch as he stands back up, staring down at the names and writing carved into the stone.

We’re both silent until Wade decides to say something else. “Wh-Who are they?” he asks quietly.

“My parents.”

Wade nods and we stare at the tombstone. I silently say what I’ve been planning to say to them all week. Nothing interesting happens to me anymore, but I still like to talk to my mom and dad.

_ Hi, mom. Hi, dad. Sorry for being a little late. This is Wade. I’ve been stealing flowers from his apartment building and he finally caught me. Hope he doesn’t call the cops.  _

A weak smile tugs on my lips.

_ I think I’m going to move to Canada, or maybe Maine. Somewhere with lots of woods so I can try and see some new animals. Oh, and the stars. I really miss the stars. And you. Love you.  _

I believe and hope that they can somehow hear me. If not, then I’m just some crazy guy who’s been talking to a rock for twelve or so years.

I glance over at Wade when I’m finished, sighing as the tears in his eyes still appear to be there. “Wanna go get some Chinese?” I ask, deciding I’d like someone to come with me. 

He looks over in return. “How ‘bout some chimichangas?” 

_ Chimi-what? _

“Alright. You’re buying, though,” I reply with a playful smirk.

He shrugs and nods. “Sure thing.”

We leave the cemetery and continue walking along a sidewalk, of  course. I’ve been raised to follow the rules, do as told, and safety-first. I wasn’t too sure if Wade was that careful walking around or not. 

“When did they, uh…” Wade mumbles.

I shrug casually. “I was six.”

I hear Wade sigh and then hear him say, “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”

I nod. It was hard, especially since I’ve never known them all that well. All I know about them is what my aunt has told me. She can talk a lot about my parents and I always ask what they were like. It’s not the same, though. 

I keep my chilled hands in my jacket pockets as we walk, smiling to myself and feeling better. I was going out to eat with some cute boy. Well, a man. This definitely isn't a boy. 

Wade and I make our way to a Mexican food truck, and I’m honestly surprised by the fact they’re still open so late on a Saturday night. I doubt they had many customers tonight. 

There’s no line so we just walk right up to the window. “Five beef and bean chimichangas, please,” Wade says, handing the man money. He seemed to already know how much everything was. “Oh, and two Cokes.” 

The man in the truck nods with a kind smile and then gets to work. I turn to Wade. “What’s a chimichanga?” I ask hesitantly. I’ve seen it on TV before, but that’s it. I barely remember what it looked like.

Wade looks at me like I kicked a puppy. “You don’t know what a chimichanga is?” I shake my head and he goes on, “Oh, Lord! It’s the best thing I’ve  _ ever _ eaten in my whole life!” 

He seemed rather passionate, so I suppose chimichangas must really be good. I’m not big on Mexican food since I find the spices too intense. But I do like tacos.

I smile and look back at the truck, watching the man make our food and get out bottled sodas. “It’s that good, huh?” I ask.

“Duh,” Wade scoffs and I smile harder.

A few minutes pass and then we’re passed our food and drinks. Wade takes three of the chimichangas, leaving me with two. I’m not complaining, though. These things look high in calories and I’m not a big eater. I have abs and nice toned biceps but I could easily be considered skinny due to my lean form.

“What’s your name, again?” Wade asks. 

I go to open my mouth but the man in the trucks says with a very heavy accent, “Have a good day!” I smile at him and then we walk away. Wade doesn’t follow up on his question, neither do I. 

We find a nearby bench in front of the 9/11 Memorial. That attack happened the year I was born so I don’t remember anything about it. I don’t even know if I was born before it happened. I’m awful with months and calendars.

I open one of my wrapped up chimichangas and take a couple seconds to inspect it. It looked like a burrito and I couldn’t find any kind of difference. I don’t ask, though. I don’t want to seem stupid. 

I take a bite and realize Wade’s already finished his first one. It definitely seems like a burrito, but there's something off about it. I can’t taste it.  I open my Coke before taking a sip from the plastic bottle, which I can’t taste either. I should really stop using so much plastic. My friend gave me crap about it. Something about the turtles. 

I take another bite and smile a bit as I chew. “Not the best thing I’ve tasted,” I say as I swallow, “but it’s real good.”

I glance over and smirk playfully at the look Wade gives me. “Not the best thing?” he asks, sounding offended. “It’s the bestest thing!” he exclaims.

“‘Bestest’ isn't a word,” I interject.

He glares at me and I smile before we both continue eating. Silence follows once more for a few minutes as we stuff our faces. I seemed to have better manners than Wade, though. 

“You never told me your name,” he says.

I swallow the food in my mouth and glance over to him. “I’d rather not,” I reply honestly.

“So, what? You’re just an unnamed orphan?” Wade asks cockily, looking down as I take another sip of my half-filled drink. That’s a weird thing to say, since ‘unnamed’ isn’t a usual word in your vocabulary. But Wade is a weird guy.

I smile but don’t reply, and he doesn’t press. We sit there and finish our meals, a new feeling of warmth I haven’t felt in a long time surrounding me. 

Silence takes over and it doesn’t feel awkward. Somehow it’s comforting and relaxing. It’s eleven o'clock at night, in Lower Manhattan, and I’m a weakly built, young man. But Wade’s here, complaining about how tough the shell of his chimichanga is. And I feel safe. 

Before I could ask Wade any monumental questions-- like his favourite colour-- everything is suddenly ripped out from underneath of me. 

The buzzing city, nighttime street lights, and Wade disappeared in under a second. I open my eyes and squint, not realizing my moan of disapproval about the blinding light above me.

But the light was quickly dimmed and I shut my eyes again. My throat felt scratchy and hoarse, my mouth aching for water. That Coke sounds really good right about now.

My eyes open back up and I squint, letting out a couple grunts. My entire body feels numb and stiff, so I can't move my neck. My eyes flicker to my left, seeing somebody dressed in a white doctor's coat. 

"Mr. Parker?" they asked, their voice deep enough to be male.

I grunt again, screwing my sensitive eyes closed once more. The man continued, "Peter Parker. I'm Doctor Strange. You've been in a coma for two weeks. What's the last thing you remember?"

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for breaking your heart.


End file.
